<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Mission by Clementine19</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709649">Mission</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clementine19/pseuds/Clementine19'>Clementine19</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last of Us (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Daddy kink but like see the description, F/M, No there’s not a huge age difference, No this isn’t sublimating anything else in his life, Praise kink if you squint at it, Sometimes you just want to see knife dad initiate getting absolutely boned tf down</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:49:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,596</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clementine19/pseuds/Clementine19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay I wrote the porn; but first you gotta immerse in knife dad’s mental state, I’m so sorry~</p><p>Yo, okay, so I’m not authentically brave/couldn’t write my way around this probably <a>extremely true headcanon</a></p><p>…and the context that we all only get to thirst for the way he says baby girl because he says it to HIS LITERAL DAUGHTER(S) in game. </p><p>So. Veering hard away from all that mess, mostly because <i>Joel</i> is probably not emotionally ready to dabble in any variety of kink: please enjoy this excessive character stringency for a fic that’s just Joel railing someone out of an inability to cope with solitude.</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://joelmillerthirstqz.tumblr.com/post/629204351231066112/joel-meets-yn-and-he-makes-it-his-mission-to-fuck">From this ask:</a></p><p>Joel meets y/n and he makes it his MISSION to fuck her. Throw in a daddy kink if you’re brave</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joel (The Last of Us)/Reader, Joel/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>134</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mission</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Joel moves throughout the rooms of his house, picking up one occupation after the next, bored around one in the afternoon and faced with the reality that he neither remembers nor knows what to do with actual free time, safety, and space of his own. Tommy and Maria had brought some kind approximations of traditional housewarming, but much of his home was furnished by the previous resident and he sat there overwhelmed by spatial possibility. <span class="s1">For all his griping about Ellie’s perpetual stream-of-consciousness chattering, the silence roared in his ears like he’d been dragged downstream. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>Do people just go drink now? Just talk to each someone to pass the time? </em>he thinks to himself, frustrated. By the time he could legally go to a bar, he’d been twenty-one and Sarah had been three, her mom long gone. He hadn’t spent time alone since the outbreak—always Tommy or Tess and others in between nearby. Acute problems to solve, no time for chronic reflection.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Tommy brought a lone box of possessions from his apartment with a case of cheap beer the night Sarah’s mom left, hanging around more tangibly than any other family had and often taking Sarah to school once Sarah was old enough. Tommy joked that it was more like Joel having two kids to deal with; Joel ribbed him for perpetually flirting with the very clearly married moms of his niece’s classmates.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel gulps a breath, self-flagellating with the idea that he hadn’t been able to protect Sarah when Tommy and Maria so clearly deserved to have their own child, forgetting as ever that his brother executed the soldier that shot Sarah before he could get to Joel—without a blink. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>Wonderful. That’s what you do alone with your thoughts for two seconds. Jesus, Joel, </em>he grumbles inwardly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’d been dragged to so many damn <em>things</em> since settling in Jackson and didn’t know what to do when it was his choice, so he looks outside. If Ellie’s light is on, he’ll go awkwardly try to make conversation, see if she’s okay. <em>If</em> she’ll be caught in a forgiving mood; if not, if he’s really pushing it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel’s boots thud softly on the flagstone they’d carefully laid together, a path for her to get up to the house without soaking her sneakers through. Tonight, though, she’s gone or playing dead, so he sighs and shrugs a coat on, headed for the Tipsy Bison.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">————</p><p class="p1">Joel spent a nontrivial amount of his time lately fending off interested parties in Jackson.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It was just cuffing season, he dismissed—encroaching fall making people a little weird. Since he’d begun to settle in, slowly accustoming himself to having Ellie out of his sight often and a normal couch in a house without shattered windows, he’d slowly accepted more public interactions. He’d grudgingly shoulder into town meetings, quiet until Tommy or someone else would put a question to him like he had a fucking clue.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel went on patrol, helping some of the greener residents learn to keep themselves safe. Unfortunately, it meant more people caught sight of him. Joel was used to prowling through quarantine zones swollen with cowering masses plainly terrified of him, which left him minimally prepared for reactions he thought he’d stopped evoking long ago.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The people whose breath hitch when they first notice him, the longing stares when he’d finally break and smile or laugh—they’d gotten embarrassing enough for him to avoid certain places.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Whenever Joel seems like he’s about to not comply with her wishes, Maria frequently threatens to tell the women who ask her in lewd tones if Tommy has a brother the truth—<em>he does, and how about I introduce you? </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The truth was he didn’t feel capable of starting anything with someone who’d ask where he’d been. Joel didn’t want to remember, even if he’d finally pinned the picture of himself with Sarah at a soccer game up next to the blooming collection of pictures in his living room with Ellie, Polaroids in Jackson blooming over nearby wall space every few weeks. People who wanted <em>honesty</em> to go with their peaceful existence reminded him too much of Tommy’s near-fatal optimism, and he felt like it would be too dishonest to start anything with anyone who still lost sleep over distasteful things done to survive. <em>Delightful</em> first-date baggage, in his estimation.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">At the Tipsy Bison, he edges in by the drinking patrol nearest the door, welcomed gruffly and responding the same. It was nice to be recognized without raw fear or calculation as he entered, and Joel warms enough to drop his coat over the back of his chair, his rust-colored flannel’s buttons parting over the shirt beneath it as he moves, listening to Eugene tell some inflated war story with an almost-cold beer.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Alright, fuck this. Knuckle up, asshole, I’m not doing this on patrol tomorrow,” Joel’s ears perk up at the sound of your chair clattering backwards as you stand. Joel recognizes you from the newer batch of arrivals, clearly deemed capable enough to join an early patrol just days after your arrival.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Jesus, settle the fuck down,” one of the younger patrolmen grouses, standing up. Alex. <em>Oh, the dumb kid. </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Nope. Now or never,” you insist.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Listen, I’m not hitting you,” he sounds unapologetic but tries to portray himself as the reasonable party. He’s wiry, and Joel’s seen him fend for himself, but his posture doesn’t belie cool confidence.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You clearly have some doubts, so let’s get into it,” you urge, agitated beyond belief. He’d been needling you about perceived skill, something about not growing up having to field dress animals, and you’d fucking had it. He was going to make a point on patrol and get someone hurt, and you were <em>not</em> carrying bodies back into Jackson because of some ego or misplaced crush.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He taps your shoulder mockingly with a closed fist, a gentle little motion, trying to smile playfully.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You hook him across the jaw, staggering him before taking a knee to his stomach as he tries to right himself.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“More, or you’re finished?” you ask.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel fully sits up in his chair. He hasn’t seen anything like this in Jackson. Glancing over both shoulders for his brother, Maria, and finding a clear coast he watches the outcome with interest, sipping his beer with an upturned mouth. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You’re <em>cute</em>, or appealing, or some reflexive word Joel hadn’t used in years, pushing hair out of your eyes as you regain your center.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Alex tries to sweep your legs out, successfully swiping one and getting a knee to the diaphragm for it as you land.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Okay, fuck, I’m done,” he grunts and you rise easily, offering him a hand.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Good,” you mumble, letting go the second he’s righted. You look around a little chastened by all the eyes on you, deciding to forego another round.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m going to bed before we do this again,” you nod at Alex, and the rest of the patrol group you recognize in turn.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel eyes you as you depart, beer polished off and goodbyes waved, coat gripped in his fist to be flung on once outside. He knows your name, had seen you near the stables and conversing with the patrols. Hearing you speak, despite the context, maybe because of it, let him confirm something he’d been suspecting when he caught glimpses of you before. Never having had the right circumstances or raw spare time to devote all his energy to taking someone to bed, he steels himself to confirm it. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He trots after you, tugging his jacket back on and finding his way to the four-story hotel the town had spent arduous time clearing, stripping of spores, and making hospitable enough for people new to Jackson. Joel ended up leading a lot of the effort himself, vaguely proud to be doing something other than dismantling things, stretching old skills. Your little corner balcony faces off of one side, a nice view of the town unfolding as people begin to switch lights on for a sooner-than-yesterday sundown. You’re appreciative of a strange little luxury—not sure when the last time you stood with your back to a door without anticipating some infected would burst through.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You lean your elbows on the railing, a flask of whisky tipping in your fingers as you watch Jackson light up, a lone figure’s long strides coming into view down the broad street. The night is cool against your skin, but the little shiver the breeze causes feels affirming.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You’d always loved the fall, and Jackson’s soft sounds of life feel unreal enough that you could never sit here just sobering up before bed. It would leave you too wired, buzzing with the anxiety of certain impermanence. Reconciling this liminal zone with the gnashing horror just beyond it wasn’t something you’d take on without help. If Jackson was only a passing reprieve, you had to make yourself calm enough to enjoy it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel halts below where you’re standing, hands on his hips pulling his jacket open as he looks up at you.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You’re instantly sheepish—you’d guessed in whatever patrol hierarchy there was, he was rather important. And you’d just visibly beaten someone down.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Alex okay?” you call.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“He’ll be peachy. Not here for that,” Joel retorts, low drawl pleasant.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Well,” you shrug, gesturing to the two mismatched chairs on the balcony with your flask. “Allow me to be a gracious host.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He smiles and looks down for a moment. Even a couple of stories above him, you can see his height, start to assess his proportions because you’re too tipsy to be a human fucking being about your first interactions in a <em>good</em> place. You quickly add up a sum: his legs are long, shoulders broad, hair long enough to tug on. His frame suggests complete capability and you have a dire need to test it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Aw, fuck. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Y’know, I’ve got real glasses for drinking that,” Joel insinuates before he can tell himself to shut the fuck up, or to stop harassing newcomers, or any other sensible thought.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Fair enough,” you call, closing your flask and holding a finger up to signal that he should wait.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">When you arrive downstairs, boots poorly laced and denim jacket barely enough for the chill, Joel’s leaning on the veranda of the whole structure. You suppose its fair to gawk in appreciation so you do, assuring yourself you could have chosen not to.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Look, I’m not going to ask what this is, and you won’t ask why I’m saying yes, okay?” you say softly when you’re a couple of feet from him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel raises his eyebrows, feeling untethered. Some corner of him expected to humiliate himself to death so he could go home and fall asleep barely after dark, anything to shut himself up until he was occupied again. His heart speeds a little at your reply, hand on the back of his neck as he pushes back onto both feet.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m close,” Joel offers, hand down towards the street, fists quickly in his own pockets. You pull your bottom lip inward, looking at his profile, wanting to hear it again, lower, helpless.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You pass the walk in tense but not unpleasant silence, glancing at each other until you reach his porch and he edges in to unlock his door.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Turning on lights as you toe off your boots and follow him inside, you watch how he moves, past the need for any type of persuasion. He returns from the kitchen with two matching, unchipped short glasses and a cylindrical glass of amber liquid.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Trade?” Joel asks setting the bottle down and closing an open window. Your mouth quirks.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That’s a nice custom. It a Jackson thing?” you ask, tipping your flask into his glass as he returns and pours from the bottle for you.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He laughs, sharp hazel eyes jumping up to you and back down, hand running over his beard.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Not sure. What else would you do?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You drop onto one of the two couches, arranged in the way that says people actually spend time here together. Joel gets onto his knees to build a fire, definitely a necessity, though kind of needlessly sweet for the occasion.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“This?” you tease, gesturing between the two of you. Joel joins you on the same couch, heat radiating into the space around you, well before the spark in the fireplace could catch enough to reach you.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You take stock of each other in comfortable silence, and a slow grin moves from one side of your face to the other. You finish your drink with a tinge of shyness, setting it down as he does the same.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You have no warning before his mouth is on yours, hands on either side of your face. It’s achingly good to be kissed with complete attention, luxury of time changing the entire tenor of kissing another person. You’re grounded to who’s holding you, mouth accepting him as Joel leads, guiding your jaw where he wants it with the flat of his palm. Joel moves slowly, plenty of time for you to reciprocate his motions though you begin to shift closer, scant sense of rhythm keeping you from straddling his hips.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The taste of him and your anticipatory haze keeps you fixed on the kiss, his hands sliding lower and beginning to move you towards his lap.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You try not to break the kiss with a smile, but it happens anyway and he looks up curiously. You sit back on your heels and tear through the buttons of your jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch and stroking fingernails through his beard before beginning the kiss again. Joel tugs you closer by the hip, urging you into his lap. He scans your face intensely, pulling you fully against him and letting his hands run the expanse of your back.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You can feel how rough his hands are through your shirt, so your fingers fly to his to work the buttons of his flannel.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Christ,” you roll your eyes, exposing a second shirt underneath. He chuckles warmly in his chest, your foreheads bowed together a moment.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“C’mon,” Joel mutters, broad hands under each of your thighs as he rises with you wrapped around him. A segment somewhere in your brain shimmers, clicking with the novel experience, a knockout strike in the lane of neurons igniting to remember their roles.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Where’s c’mon?” you ask incoherently between kisses, moving your mouth to his neck so he can answer. You think regretfully that it’s probably substantially warmer down here, fire catching nicely.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Upstair—” Joel cuts off, your teeth nipping his pulse point.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You feel his heart jump against your mouth and your chest at once. You kiss him slowly as he takes you upstairs, stopping halfway up. He pushes you against the banister and deepens the kiss, hard length made clear. Shifting you closer to his waist once you resume, Joel’s hands creep a little higher, fingertips edging up as they dig in.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As you reach his bedroom, you have one hand hooked in the bottom seam of his shirt, ready to pull it off as he tries to set you down. Joel grunts when you tangle his broad shoulders in it, getting free and discarding it agilely. He bears down on you under dark lashes, chest rising and falling noticeably. The chill upstairs dissolves quickly as you twine together, hands running over his chest. It’s impressively broad and defined, thickening line of hair leading into his jeans.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You strip out of your two shirt layers with a casual roll of your upper body. Joel’s rapt eyes dragging over every rib leave you feeling exposed until his hands cover your breasts, mouth on your neck. You try to tug the rest of him towards the bed by the belt loops, but get frustrated and try to unclasp his belt instead.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel stoops to claw quickly at his boots, both thrown one handed before coming to rest against the wall. He hasn’t taken his eyes from you as you rise to slip your jeans down, one hand already curled back around your waist. He spreads his other hand across your abdomen, callused fingertips making you shudder appreciatively. Shoving you back, Joel gets to his knees with one of your legs hooked over his shoulder, grasped in his palm, kissing down your thigh. His free hand still moves over the rest of you.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Your mind is blankly focused on the rasp of his beard inside your legs. If you were honest, head wasn’t a frequent priority after the outbreak, sex usually a time-sensitive stress fix—for everyone. Add to that the average skill of the college peers you’d fucked before and, well, you’d only ever mildly enjoyed it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel sucks your clit into his mouth, hard, and you arc off the bed. He moves without an ounce of uncertainty, shifting and roughly positioning you for the best angle as he goes. Being pursued like this, by a person who squarely checks boxes you didn’t know were empty left you wet enough to take him the moment you’d been out of your pants. His tongue pushes inside of you, followed quickly by one finger and then another, static but wonderful. You writhe on the bed at the feeling, low hum of a chuckle skittering across your sensitive skin.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">One hand in the sheets, your other makes it into his hair. You grind against him without being able to help it, riding the stretch of his fingers as his tongue laves forceful circles around your clit.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“<em>Fuck</em>,” you try to grit out, embarrassed by the disassembled breathiness of your voice. It’s more a sigh as he curls his fingers within you, hazel flicking up to watch your reaction. You paw at his shoulders blindly, wanting him closer, wanting to fuck him, trying to pull back from him to tell him. He’s deadset in his focus, teeth softly grazing you in reply to your attempt.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Can you just—” Joel grumbles, rising,“—be good for one goddamned second—” he yanks you towards him by your ankle.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“This where you want me to tell you to make me?” you tease, sitting up in his lap and wrenching him closer with your legs.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He huffs a small laugh, making to kiss you, but you hold him back.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I want you to make me, okay?” You say seriously, grasping the hair at his nape to emphasize it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel leans forward, biting your lip with care.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Alright,” he confirms, hands around your jaw. You taste yourself on him, and a near-growl ripples through him, evident through his chest pressed against yours.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You duck away from his kiss, not caring to get his jeans off before getting a hand around his cock, your mouth enclosing the tip before you can register how much there is to take.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Christ,” he breathes, eyes shut, face turned towards the ceiling. As your hand becomes slick enough to work over his shaft, his hands stabilize in your hair, bunching. You feel him flex in your mouth as he parts his lips and tugs on your hair, hauling you up level with his face.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You don’t get to end it now,” Joel smiles, mouth almost against yours. You smile at the rough motion, hot interest skipping down your spine. His opposite hand is running over your chin while he composes himself, far closer than he’d wanted to be at this point. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You bite his fingers, pulling two deftly in to suck and keeping his gaze. His pupils darken and you feel a surge of pride at the same time as you feel him shove you back onto the bed, tearing his jeans off and finally joining you. Joel covers you, kissing you roughly and pulling your thighs around his hips, on his knees. He sheathes inside you without resistance, groaning and bowing his head at first. Even ready, he stretches you noticeably and you gasp at his first experimental thrusts, dragging your hips up to his each time.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You rise up to meet him, nails dug into his shoulders for traction, meeting his thrusts.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel hisses more in chastisement than discomfort at it, smacking your ass curiously.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You know I’m not delicate,” you say close to his ear, snapping the lobe between your teeth unnecessarily hard.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Shit, ow—” he grumbles, smacking you harder. You moan at the feeling, spread over his lap and trawling nails down his back. You tug where you’ve latched on, moving lower and biting his neck. He does it again, rolling his hips as you clench down on him. You scrape your teeth over his shoulder. Joel hits you again, force of it stinging how you’d hoped.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You provoke him to continue, pulling his hair, hard, and biting the skin over his collarbone.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel fists your hair and tugs back hard, exposing your throat to him even as you keep riding him, spanking you with almost musical timing. You almost draw blood scratching your nails out of his hair to the nape of his neck, grinning from your forced angle as he pants under you.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel leans forward and nips carefully over your larynx, clamping down hard on tendons just next to it. It’s a brash spot to suck a bruise into, and even the less visible parts of your body would surely be screaming on patrol in the morning.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You cry out, nerves and instinctive reaction to teeth near your neck making your heart and your cunt clench.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel flips you without effort, pressing a palm against your lower back to shove you into the mattress. You feel him strike your ass, once, twice, three times, and then his fingers are at your entrance, coaxing your hips to tilt up. He brushes his knuckles against you, leaning over to breathe into your ear.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Here?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What did I <em>just</em> say?” You retort, appreciative of his caution but entirely sold on the possibility that walking will hurt tomorrow.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel doesn’t reply but you can see him roll his eyes from the corner of yours as he swats your cunt, hard, sensation shattering across your skin. You moan and he takes the initiative to do it again. Your shoulder blades pinch together around his hand, veering up with it. You turn your face entirely into the bed, muffling moans and faux-objections as he works, tenderness rising to the surface of your skin.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You feel Joel’s hands harshly grasp handfuls of your ass the second before he thrusts into you again, the force pinning you to the bed. He fucks you hard for long minutes, sweat building between you enough to make his hands slip. Joel’s forearm slides around your front and pulls you back against his chest.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You immediately claw at his arm, grateful to anchor yourself to him directly, pushing your hips down against his as he falls back to a gentler pace. His mouth reaches your shoulder and your hand flies to his hair again, straining to kiss him. Maybe it was weird to seek him like that—could still be a fantastic, unattached fuck—but Joel kisses you with this unerring focus that already makes you hope it will happen again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Takin’ me perfectly,” he drawls, some enunciation falling away with his blood coursing like this. You want to keep hearing him, so you nod and resume kissing him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“More delicate than you thought? Need a break?” Joel taunts, and your eyes narrow as he speaks low and close, still thrusting shallowly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You want it hard again?” Joel teases, fingers skimming your stomach to roll your clit between them his thumb and index. It pinches and you suck in a breath, your hips floundering against his patient rhythm.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Your eyes spark and you decide to push.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes, daddy,” you mock, almost sneering at him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A dim recollection of a girl he’d briefly seen after Sarah’s mom left dusts itself off, and he reconnects dots that drifted apart from disuse after the outbreak. Joel raises his eyebrows at you and tips his head as if to say, “Well, alright then.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You’re on your hands and knees before you can react, his hand spanning across your collarbones, bracing you against his repeated impact. Joel’s breathing becomes ragged each time he slides home, folding over you again to spill an endless wave of questions into your ear. His fingers are smoother across your clit now, drawing soaked concentric circles as you hitch.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That’s it, baby girl,” Joel punctuates with a snap of his hips.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You gonna come for me just like this?” Again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Come around my cock like a good girl?” Again, rough.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You moan, dropping to your elbows as he pounds into you, orgasm building inside of you spilling over to his fingers’ stimulation, a low groan meeting yours. You’re past words and shivering on the edge of climax when he taps your jaw.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Focus up, c’mon,” he rumbles in your ear, demanding your attention. The pressure of his length against the tension inside of you has your vision blurring at the edges.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Tell me,” Joel demands, pulling out halfway.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes! Please, please,” you hear yourself sound panicky at the threat of losing his touch.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Not what I asked you, baby,” he goads, nipping softly across your shoulders. His hand hasn’t stilled, and you know your eyes are rolling with the distracting pleasure of it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes, yes I will, please—”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Tell me what,” he slips in an inch, voice shaky with thin control, fingers flexing where they meet your skin.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Come for you, please don’t stop,” you plead, trying to shove your hips back to to meet his.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That’s it, baby girl,” Joel murmurs and you break, quivering against his fingers and fussing with effort and relief. Your cheeks and mouth bloom red as your eyes droop with the onslaught of endorphins, still cresting as you feel Joel’s hips snap in quick succession, burying himself deep and making the best, most broken noise you could have hoped for. Even deep in your own fog, you reach for him, finding his mouth as it seeks yours again, aftershocks rolling through him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel rolls onto his back, tugging you along one side. You don’t much enjoy being pinned if you weren’t also being penetrated, so the intimacy of lying there like lovers with someone you’d barely glimpsed, much less talked to, was unsettling.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Joel laughs like it’s easy for him, face lighting up with the motion, hand stroking your hair behind your ear.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“What?” You ask, propping yourself up on an elbow.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Just surprised you said yes,” he clarifies. “I’m don’t—this isn’t a usual Wednesday for me,” he clears his throat.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You analyze his expression for a second, looking for the deceit and just finding something genuine and suspiciously shy for having nearly spanked you to orgasm minutes ago.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You don’t accost every vulnerable newcomer and ply them with good whisky?” You prod, draping yourself over his chest, an easy negotiation of legs happening without either of you needing to acknowledge it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Bourbon, and, just the ones who start fistfights, really,” he teases, hands drifting over you, hungry warmth reaching his eyes as the afterglow begins to recede.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Come downstairs?” Joel asks, like you weren’t tangled up in his bedsheets, surrounded and willingly captive to whatever he wanted.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“That was the original plan,” you protest, peering around for his shirt and slipping into it. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He smirks and kisses the tip of your nose, pausing and tipping your chin up to kiss you properly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>God damn it, </em>you think. <em>Oh, god damn it. </em></p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>